


Contact Binary

by emilyonstars



Category: South Park
Genre: Drabble Collection, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Idiots in Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, One Shot Collection, Rating May Change, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-20 13:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14261646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyonstars/pseuds/emilyonstars
Summary: Craig had always considered himself a solitary body; that was until he and Tweek were thrust together, forced into a shared orbit. Somewhere along the way they had formed a new system, a binary system. This is an account of the moments that brought them together and the gravity that kept them there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is largely a writing practice exercise for me, as I really love South Park as well as Tweek and Craig. I have never written for SP before, so this is my first time trying.  
> I plan to do a lot of different one shots, drabbles, etc, although some may be interconnected.  
> I want to do "snapshots" of their relationship to work on getting the characters down and just enjoying writing again, as I have a lot of dysphoria right now and want to work on doing things I like for fun again without the pressure of having a complex story line.  
> I have a list of ideas I want to go off, so hopefully I'll get to do a lot of them. 
> 
> This is unrated because I have yet to decide if I will try my hand at smut or not, so we'll see if that happens.... 
> 
> To anyone that takes the time to read this drivel: Thank you! I hope it was at least a decent experience.

“Didn’t you wear that shirt yesterday?”

Craig had, in fact, worn that shirt yesterday, but he still looked down at his chest to observe the half exposed print of his ‘I need space’ t-shirt, visible through the part of his unzipped jacket with half-assedly feigned interest. “No.”

“I’m pretty sure you did,” insists Clyde, narrowing his eyes scrutinizingly across the cafeteria table at Craig while simultaneously stuffing a greasy french fry into his mouth.

“Dude,” Token interjects, “don’t act like you didn’t wear the same boxers for a week last month. We all saw you in gym.”

Clyde sputters indignantly for a moment before protesting,“It was a value pack! They’re all the same color!” The red upwelling in his cheeks betrays him.

“Even the copious amounts of Axe couldn’t disguise the skid mark stench,” Craig adds, attempting to deflect any remaining attention away from himself and his questionable clothing choices.

“My dad buys them in bulk!” Clyde shoots Craig a nasty look. Craig doesn’t take it to heart, used to them ragging on each other on the daily. At this point, it’s an unspoken pillar of their friendship. “And I don’t have skid marks, _Craig_!”

“C’mon, f-f-fellas,” Jimmy placates, “We’ve all reworn clothes at least wuh-once.”

Tweek comes tumbling into the spot beside Craig at that moment, hitting both of his calves into the bench and dropping his tray on the table from at least six inches up, causing it to clatter and fling corn kernels across the table at Token. “Hey!” gasps Tweek, a decibel too loud, face screwed up in pain.

“Y’okay, babe?” Craig asks as Tweek clambers onto the bench beside him.

“‘M fine,” Tweek says, smiling quickly at Craig before busing himself with picking up his corn. “What, uh, did I miss?”

“I’m being bullied,” Clyde whines, accompanying it with an exaggerated pout. “Craig and Token teamed up on me.”

“Ngh — What for?”

“Clyde only owning one pair of under-p-p-pants,” Jimmy supplies, matter of factually.

Tweek begins to wrestle himself out of his hideously patterned thrift store sweater. “I don’t even — even wear underwear.” Tweek’s sleeve dangles off him like a tentacle, smacking into his milk carton and knocking it over. Craig rights it for him almost immediately. He finally manages to pull the sweater off and balls it up on the bench beside him, revealing the oversize t-shirt underneath it, the butter-soft fabric from too many wears and Red Racer logo intimately familiar to Craig.

Tweek seems to realize what he said then, eyes widening minutely and his hand going to the back of his neck, poised to tug at his hair if necessary. “The underpants gnomes, man!” he blurts, by way of explanation.

Jimmy whistles. “Commando — n-nice.”

Tweek’s shirt doesn’t go unnoticed despite the revelation he let slip; Token looking pointedly between the t-shirt and Craig. Craig pretends to suddenly be enraptured by his watery mashed potatoes.

 

* * *

 

“Craig, can I wear your hoodie?”

Craig looks up from his physics homework to find Tweek standing at the foot of his bed, nervously shifting in front of spot Craig had flung his hoodie when they arrived at his house, eyes large and almost pleading.

“Are you cold, honey?” Craig moves to put his books to the side but doesn’t get up. “I can turn the heat up,” he offers. His dad would probably chew him out later if he touched the thermostat again, but whatever. Anything for Tweek.

Tweek twists his fingers together, wringing them. “Ngh — not really. It just that...um, it smells like you,” Tweek admits, all in one breath and way too fast, staring down at his own hands now instead of Craig. Through the frizz of blond hair Craig can see the pink tinge on the tips of Tweek’s ears.

“Oh,” Craig says dumbly, overwhelmed for a second by the rush of affection that smacks into him. He coughs to give him enough time to push it down before he does something stupid. Like tell Tweek he’s the cutest thing Craig’s ever seen, or that he loves him — or something equally as mushy and exposing. “Yeah, sure.”

Craig stares with way too much intensity as he watches Tweek swathe himself in his hoodie. Tweek hasn’t worn a hoodie of Craig’s in a long time, maybe not even since they were kids playing superheroes, and Craig realizes at that moment how many prime opportunities he missed out on because Tweek looks unfairly adorable.  
Craig has grown significantly taller than Tweek, and most of their peers as well. Whilst Tweek isn’t that much shorter than average, Craig’s clothes are still much too big for him, the sleeves slipping over his hands and the hem landing at mid-thigh; effectively dwarfing him.

“Thanks, Craig.” Tweek flashes a delighted smile at him as he pushes the hood down, the rub of the fabric against his hair charging it with static electricity, the corn silk strands standing on end.

“Cute.” The word leaves his mouth before he can stop himself. The pink from Tweek’s ears bleeds into his cheeks, and he ducks his head to hid it then, but Craig can still see it and the soft curve of his smile. Craig is really grateful in that moment for his perfectly honed aloofness, for seeing Tweek in his clothes makes him feel weird — all bubbly and gross, and oddly possessive. He isn’t sure if he really likes this or really hates it.

“Are you done?” Tweek asks, and it takes a few seconds for Craig to realize that Tweek’s not asking if he’s done staring at him, but rather if he’s done with his homework, one floppy sleeve covered hand pointing in direction of the books beside him.

“Yeah.” Craig was only halfway done, but shoves himself and his books over, and grabs his laptop off the nightstand anyways. Tweek curls up in the newly vacated spot beside him as Craig boots up the laptop and pulls up Hulu. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Tweek stuff his nose in the collar of the hoodie and inhale, and his brain short circuits for a second — because how is everything Tweek does so damn cute? — and Craig doesn’t hear anything Tweek says, staring unseeing at the web page with one hand poised over the track pad.

“Craig!”

“Hmm?”

“Y’okay, man?” Tweek is peering at him owlishly, barely visible eyebrows drawn together in concern. The contrast between Tweek’s milk pale skin and the blue — Craig has to shake his head to clear it before he gets distracted by Tweek in his stupid hoodie again.

“Fine, sorry. What’d you say?”

“Y’wanna watch the X-Files?”

That evening, when Tweek tries to give him back his hoodie before he leaves to maybe make it home before curfew, is the beginning of the end. Craig takes one look at Tweek starting to divest himself of it and blurts out, “keep it,” before he can think better of it.

And that is how Craig began to lose all of his clothing to his boyfriend.

 

* * *

 

Craig doesn’t realize that the clothes borrowing has become an issue until a few months later when he goes to get dressed in the morning only to realize that the only clean shirts he still has are pajama tops, leaving him with two choices: wear pajamas to school or the t-shirt he wore yesterday.

In retrospect, Craig probably should have asked for them back or stopped lending his clothing to Tweek, who does, miraculously, happen to have plenty of clothing of his own.

Although, Tweek does look especially cute in Craig’s clothing.

In retrospect, Craig has no regrets.


	2. all's fair in love and war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: I've never played laser tag but i did research it before this as best I could. 
> 
> Also, I've updated the summary and changed the title and I'm a lot more satisfied with it now. I'm sorry if there's any confusion. 
> 
> I'm feeling super unmotivated and have writer's block, but I still wanted to get something out. Apologies if it's crappy. This entire series is a huge work in progress.

Craig has been to his fair share of birthday parties in his life despite his emotional constipation and general disdain for most of his peers — and the general public, if he’s honest. In elementary school, everyone in your class had to be invited to your birthday party, as that meant more gifts, and more guests created an illusion of popularity, regardless of if it was artificial and would eventually evaporate following the next party. 

Free pizza and cake, and bounce castles were also a plus; the only reasons why Craig ever went to Eric Cartman’s birthday, really. But in the six years since fourth grade, Craig is pleased to announce that he never will attend another one of those assholes’ birthday parties. Now he only has to show up to those of his actual friends, free from the impossibly ear splitting shrieks of Cartman whining to his mother. Now he only has to put up with Clyde’s whining, which is significantly less annoying and much easier to contain. 

 

“These teams are unfair!” 

 

“Clyde, shut the fuck up,” Craig drones. “You’re making my ears bleed.” 

 

“I have  _ Butters  _ on my team,” hisses Clyde, leaning closer to Craig as though it would keep Butters from hearing him from his position three feet away. It didn’t. 

 

Butters frowns, looking down at his laser gun in his hand like it would explain the situation to him, and then turning back to Clyde when it didn’t. “Well, hey, what’s wrong with that?” The bright teal of his jacket is blinding under the black lights. 

 

“Dude, Token was right in front of you and you couldn’t even hit ‘im!” 

 

“Don’t be a sore loser, Clyde,” says Token, meandering over to the arena entrance from the customer service desk. “I asked them to scramble the teams again.” This laser tag extravaganza was Token’s Sweet Sixteen. 

 

“Yeah, Clyde, don’t be a little b-b-bitch,” Jimmy teases, the led lights in the sensors of his vest flickering on; blue, the same as Tweek’s and Butters’. 

 

Craig met Tweek’s eyes across the huddle they had formed in the doorway, and Tweek stuck his tongue out at him. Craig sent his best challenging look back — which was probably little more than an eyebrow raise — trying to convey “your ass is grass” as well as he could without words.

 

“Yes!” Clyde cheers, slinging an arm around Token’s shoulders, overjoyed at his new team of Token and Craig. “You’re gonna get pwned!” He pumps his arm in the air, laser gun in hand. Token wrinkles his nose. 

 

“What  _ year _ is this, Clyde — 2010? The fuck.”

 

* * *

 

Craig’s heart is jack hammering in his chest, legs aching with exertion, as he narrowly dashes behind another barrier. For someone on crutches, Jimmy was wickedly fast and sharpshooting when it came to laser tag. Jimmy had already hit Craig twice, once in the right shoulder and in the back. Combined with the cheap phaser shot he had let Clyde score, that left Craig with two hits before being eliminated. 

 

Crouching down, Craig peers around the edge of the wall. From the left where Craig had just fled he hears Jimmy whoop enthusiastically, shortly followed by the disgruntled, frustrated sound of his target. Now is the time to move. If Craig can make it to the next block they will be on opposite ends, his back to the wall, and at a prime vantage point to take Jimmy out. 

 

Craig sucks in a deep breath and makes a break for it, crouching low and pumping his legs as fast as possible. The distance between the barriers seems to stretch on forever. Fifty feet. Thirty. Fifteen. So close — he’s a handful of feet away when it happens; the vest strapped to his chest buzzes. The sensor on his left shoulder flickers.  _ Shit. _

Craig hadn’t even seen the beam from the laser hit him. 

 

He’s down to one hit left. 

 

He ducks behind the barrier and smacks right into someone else, who inadvertently slams their laser gun into his face. Flat on his ass in front of him is Tweek, cradling his phaser like Craig’s face is a danger to it. Craig sucks in a pained breath through his teeth. 

 

“Gah!” Tweek yelps, tentatively reaching out with his free hand to hover it over Craig’s nose. “You scared the shit out of me! Are you — are you okay?” 

 

“‘M fine,” Craig says, but checks if his nose is bleeding anyways. “I’m on freeze,” he adds, eyeing Tweek’s renewed grip on his gun, like he’s preparing to shoot him before Craig get him. “Jimmy’s a goddamn sniper.” Craig couldn’t shoot Tweek even if he wanted to; the last hit from Jimmy putting him in time out. 

 

Tweek laughs breathlessly, “Yeah.” He scoots closer to Craig, moving up onto his knees. “Y’okay?” he repeats, reaching over to cup Craig’s cheek in his left hand, who nods in response. Tweek smiles at him mischievously, his teeth glowing blue under the black lighting. “You want me to — ngh — kiss it better?” 

 

Craig leans into him and Tweek taps a chapped, barely there kiss to the tip of his nose, like he’s afraid that putting any pressure behind it will hurt him. Which, knowing Tweek, he probably is worried about that. When he goes to pull back, Craig moves closer and stills him with a kiss in return. Tweek lets out a wispy little laugh that’s hardly more than an exhale and curls his fingertips around the curve of Craig’s jaw, and then closes the distance between them, pressing a sweet, apologetic kiss against his lips. “Sorry,” he murmurs as he goes to move away again. 

 

Craig’s chasing after him when the buzzing starts. 

 

The buzzing from his vest. 

 

Because they’re still playing laser tag. 

 

And Tweek just shot him. 

 

Sure enough, when Craig looks down the sensor on his chest is flashing, the speaker within the vest announcing in an automated voice, “player is dead.” Taking advantage of his delayed processing, Tweek scurries off, shoes squeaking and giggling. 

 

Craig really needs to get his head in the game. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please share your thoughts!  
> thanks for reading!


End file.
